


Dye Another Day

by AtypicalOwl



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, the Doctor and his wish to be ginger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtypicalOwl/pseuds/AtypicalOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy gets fed up with the Doctor complaining about not being ginger, and takes matters into her own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dye Another Day

A deep sigh made Amy look up from her perusal of a rack of blouses in the TARDIS wardrobe. She exchanged a glance with Rory, who was looking through a collection of ties (none of them the bow sort, thank goodness). Rory shrugged and inclined his head to the side, indicating the only other person in the room: The Doctor. Over a millennium old, sole survivor of the Time War, thoroughly alien in every respect, and couldn't stop fussing over his hair.

The Doctor would hold a lock up to the light for inspection, then release it and shake his head. Or he would tilt his head side to side or turn around so far it made Amy's neck hurt in sympathy, examining his hair from every angle. And with every minute of examination, his frown only deepened.

It would have been almost funny, except the Doctor looked genuinely distressed, so rather than teasing him, Amy simply asked, “What's the matter?”

The Doctor jumped slightly, then did one of his ridiculous twirls around to face Amy and Rory. “Absolutely nothing!” He said, far too brightly.

Amy raised an eyebrow. “You are far too sulky for nothing to be wrong! Now spill. What's got you preening like a clinically depressed peacock?”

“I told you, nothing!” The Doctor rolled his eyes and crossed in front of Amy, making for the rack dedicated to bow ties. He made a show of sorting through the most garish, neon patterns, even though he would probably end up picking his usual red or blue in the end. “Nothing you'd understand, anyway,” he said, so softly Amy was sure he hadn't meant for her to hear.

“Come on, Doctor, just tell us!” Rory said. “We're about to go to a party. In space. That you said was the 'biggest, most rambunctious gala this side of the Horsehead Nebula'. That should be a reason to be happy, so tell us what's wrong, please?”

The Doctor sighed again, and fiddled with a particularly eye-hurting neon bow tie. “Really, it's nothing that concerns you.”

“You know we hate it when you keep secrets from us,” Amy said sternly. “Can't you at least promise it isn't something like the last time 'nothing was wrong' and it turns out I was a pregnant Flesh clone?”

That actually got a small chuckle out of the Doctor. “No, I promise it's nowhere near that serious.”

“Then, why can't you tell us?” Rory asked.

“You'll laugh at me.”

“Will you tell us if we promise not to laugh?” Amy asked.

The Doctor gave her a look that clearly said he didn't trust them not to laugh.

“Really, we won't!”

“You're not going to let this go, are you?”

Amy and Rory shook their heads.

The Doctor slumped, defeated. “Fine.” He mumbled something.

“Didn't quite catch that,” Amy said.

“'Mnoingr.”

Rory tilted his head to the side. “One more time, with maybe a smidge of actual enunciation.”

“I said I'm not ginger!” The Doctor's shout echoed far more than it should have in a room filled with racks of clothes. Perhaps the TARDIS was playing with the acoustics to give him more dramatic effect. Then again, she sometimes seemed as put out by his theatrics as his companions generally were. Either way, it made Amy's ears ring.

She held up a finger to say “one moment”, turned around, and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle that threatened to break her earlier promise.

Rory just stood, looking confused. “Why is that a problem, again?”

The Doctor threw up his hands. “I have never been ginger. Three regenerations in a row, I've specifically wanted to be ginger. Three regenerations, I've got nothing but this mud color!” He raked his hands through his hair, making it stand on end a bit rather than just flopping everywhere. “Is that too much to ask? I've had black, I've had blond, I've had white, I've had brown. Oh boy, have I had brown! All I want is to just, for once in my exceptionally long life, have ginger hair! Oi, stop laughing!” The last part was directed at Amy. “I said you wouldn't understand! You were born ginger! You don't understand what it's like to want it!”

Amy finally got her laughter under control, though she couldn't stop grinning. “That's all? You're this mopey about not being ginger? I thought it was something serious!”

“It is serious!”

Rory spoke up. “Well, you have to admit, it's not exactly on the same level as the crack in the wall, is it?”

“That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt!”

Amy had to fight to control her laughter again, because the Doctor was pouting. Honest to God, lower-lip-stuck-out pouting.

“If it's that big of a deal, why don't you just dye it?” Amy asked. “Us humans do it all the time when we're not happy with our hair.”

“It's not that simple!”

“He might be right, you know.” Rory said.

The Doctor smiled and nodded. “Yes Pond, listen to your husband! He's talking sense!”

Rory continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. “I mean, we _do_ have a spaceship slash time machine. Can't we just take him to a future salon and have them laser it or something?”

“It doesn't work that way!” The Doctor cried. “I mean, yes, there are places that give laser hair cuts, but that's only applicable to certain species with some sort of thick spine, and honestly the smell is so awful it's better to just take a file to them anyway, though some prefer a machine that's a bit like a buzzsaw but not really, and besides, lasers can't make keratin reflect a different wavelength of light, that takes a whole other order of technology!”

Amy was impressed. He hadn't taken a single breath in that entire tirade. But she was not to be deterred from simple common sense. “Okay, if laser salons are out, why not use that 'whole other order of technology' you mentioned? You're a Time Lord, surely you've got _something_ laying around the TARDIS.”

“Bah, it's just more trouble than it's worth.” The Doctor shook his head, then clapped his hands together. “Right, back to the task at hand. Have you picked out your gala outfits yet?”

Amy ignored the clumsy change of subject and resolved to pursue the issue later. _Why is being ginger such a big deal? All it gets is you teased in school and you stand out a bit more in a crowd. Bah, when can we_ ever _explain why the Doctor does what he does?_

Rory ended up enlisting the Doctor's help in figuring out how certain intergalactic fashions worked (though Amy privately wondered why he even bothered. The Doctor didn't exactly have the best fashion sense, so even if they did manage to put something together, that was no guarantee it would be any better than Rory picking random items off the rack).

Amy busied herself with trying to coordinate a blouse and a skirt in a way that was pleasing to her eyes and wouldn't be garish to creatures who could see into ultraviolet and x-rays. She didn't _quite_ understand why green would be a “no” color when the wavelengths were nowhere near each other, but the Doctor had said it, and he was the one with experience on Ixoerar, not her.

Every so often, she would catch the Doctor looking in the mirror across the room, or running his hand through his hair more often than usual, giving a slightly dejected sigh every time. It started to get annoying after a while.

"Seriously Doctor, if you keep whinging about your hair, next time we're on Earth I will sneak out to the nearest store, pick up a box of dye, and use it on you in your sleep!"

The Doctor gasped. “You wouldn't dare!”

Rory nodded. “She would. Trust me, I know.”

Amy gritted her teeth. “Shut up, Rory.”

“No, really.” Rory continued, unaware of the danger of being smacked by his mortified wife. “She was in one of her 'dress Rory up as the Raggedy Doctor' kicks when we were teenagers. Made me grow my hair out and everything, but she was mad because it's lighter than yours, so she dyed it in my sleep once. Didn't realize until I turned on the lights and didn't recognize myself in the mirror. I think they heard me scream in London.”

A fierce blush rose to Amy's cheeks. She didn't like to be reminded of how silly she had been. “Your own fault for sleeping so soundly...” She mumbled.

“Anyway, once she actually started asking permission, she got really good at it. It takes hardly any time at all to put the dye in, and she almost never gets it in your eyes any more."

“Oh, thanks Rory.” Amy said flatly.

The Doctor looked from Rory, to Amy, back to Rory, upwards at his hair, then back to Amy again. “Fine. After the gala, I'll take you back to Earth and you can try. It's not going to work, but you can try, since you can't be persuaded.”

“It's hair dye, you put it in, wash it out, and have different hair. How can it not work?” Amy laughed. “Well, that's settled. Now, did you say that blue and orange is a _good_ combination or a _tacky_ combination to folks who can see in infrared?”

* * *

After the gala, which predictably included an alien sabotage plot, copious amounts of running, a bomb, two alien poodles, and an alien hat that looked suspiciously like a purple fez, the Doctor followed through on his promise and allowed Amy to buy a box of hair dye. He was quite skeptical when Amy waved the box in his face, but she and Rory assured him that this was the brand they found worked best when they were playing Raggedy Doctor.

Amy thought it was a little odd to see the Doctor in an old t-shirt and jeans, but neither of them was going to risk getting permanent dye on his signature outfit. She mixed the dye, put on the gloves, and started putting it into his hair.

 _Not the way I always imagined running my hands through his hair,_ she thought, wrinkling her nose at the dye's strong smell.

The Doctor flinched, and Amy had a brief moment of panic. _He's a bit psychic, isn't he?_ _Touch telepath or something? Oh God, he can hear me, can't he? Doctor, you stay out of my brain! Shoo!_ _Wait. Gloves. Not actually touching him. No, I should be good._

“That itches,” the Doctor said, squirming a little.

“Dye does that. Stay still,” Amy chided. “Unless you _want_ me to get it on your ears. Wouldn't that be nice, having them match your hair?”

The Doctor said nothing.

The rest of the dyeing process proceeded without a hitch, and after forty minutes of putting up with a bored, itchy, dye-covered Doctor, Amy sent him off to the shower (“Cool water only, Doctor, or you'll take the red right out!”), relieved the ordeal was over.

She rejoined Rory in the console room, where he had been hiding. Maybe he was afraid she was going to dye him too or something. Honestly, she grew out of the ambush dye habit years ago, and she had the actual Doctor now, no need to turn Rory into a pseudo-Raggedy any more.

Or maybe he was just having flashbacks from the smell. She probably should apologize for that someday.

“So, is he ginger yet?” Rory asked.

“Probably. He's just got to wash the dye out now, and I think he's a big enough boy he can do that himself. It's going to be nice to not have to hear him complaining about it any more.”

“Ah, but will you be able to handle losing the title of sole ginger aboard the TARDIS?” Rory teased.

“If it comes to that, there's always fire engine red dye.”

Rory frowned. “For which one of you?”

Amy smirked.

They heard footsteps behind them, and turned around to see the Doctor enter. Amy's eyes widened; the dye had taken better than she thought it would. It did its job perfectly, leaving his head covered in hair that was nearly identical to her own. It did look a bit odd in his usual floppy style (and it definitely clashed with the red bow tie), but it was done. The Doctor was ginger!

So... Why didn't he look very happy?

“You look fantastic, Doctor!” Amy said brightly. “It suits you.”

“Looks good,” Rory said.

“Yeah, yeah, don't forget, you're from the same species that made Lady Gaga. I'm hesitant to take your word for it” The Doctor smiled weakly. “Anyway, where were we headed next? It's Rory's turn to pick, right?” He was devoid of his usual enthusiasm and making a halfhearted attempt to cover it up.

“Um. Er. Well.” Rory said eloquently. “How about one of those nebulas that the Hubble telescope is always taking pictures of? Would be cool to see it in person.”

“The plural is actually nebulae, and certainly we can go!” The Doctor began his usual dance around the console, flipping switches, pulling levers, and sending the TARDIS rocking from side to side. Amy was quickly too distracted by holding on for dear life to ask him why he seemed so disappointed to have his ginger dream come true.

* * *

Time passed, they saved the Horsehead nebula from actual horse-headed aliens that were offended by the Earth nickname, and a few days later, Amy realized that she had never found out why the Doctor was so dejected about being dyed. Of course her brain picked the worst possible time to remember: when he was getting ready for a date with River, so he had locked himself in his room and the wardrobe to obsess about his appearance (and probably come out looking the same as he always did).

Rory was just impatient for the Doctor to get done so that he could drop them off on Earth so he and Amy could have a nice, normal coffee date while the Doctor and River were off doing whatever they did on their dates (he _really_ did not like thinking about what they did on their dates, and Amy could understand why. Maybe the whole time traveler thing made their respective ages tricky, but she was still their daughter and it was still weird!), and he was pacing circles around the console.

“Okay, how do I look?” The Doctor's voice finally called. He stepped into the console room, looking (as Amy had predicted) just like usual, except...

“Not ginger.” Amy said flatly.

“You're not ginger,” Rory repeated.

“Well, don't rub it in!” The Doctor said.

Amy stepped closer to examine his hair. It looked exactly the way it had last week, before the dye fiasco. She poked it. It sprang back into shape, stubbornly brown. “Why are you not ginger? Don't tell me you dyed it back?” She asked.

The Doctor shrugged. “It washed out. Told you, it's not as simple as dying it.”

Amy spluttered. “But. What. No! That's not how it works! That dye has some bleach in it, we lightened your hair a bunch of shades, even if the red pigment washed out, you'd just look like Rory! That! I! ARGH!”

Rory sighed. “Did you have to break my wife's brain right before our coffee date?”

“IT'S NOT POSSIBLE!” Amy yelled.

“You're standing in a time machine that's bigger on the inside telling a thousand-and-some year old space alien that his hair is not possible. You might want to reconsider your worldview.” Rory said flatly.

The Doctor just grinned and started pulling the controls to take them to Stormcage.

“You and your stupid Time Hair!” Amy screamed as the TARDIS tossed them around.

* * *

Amy was still sulking after they picked River up, and she spilled the whole story when River asked what was wrong, not caring if Ginger Doc was some kind of spoiler. River nodded in all the right places, patted Amy on the back, and said “Time Hair's a bugger, isn't it? You probably don't want to know what happens if I try to straighten mine.”

Amy dropped her face into her hands and moaned.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see a ginger Doctor, [look here.](http://i.imgur.com/XnbOjGp.jpg) Not my manip, I just found it online when I was looking to see if anyone had Photoshopped the Doctor ginger.
> 
> Also, [David Tennant looks amazing as a ginger.](http://i.imgur.com/hY4yw8q.jpg) Well, [ sometimes, anyway. ](http://i.imgur.com/J6B72pT.jpg)
> 
> Thank you, people who already thought to do this so I wouldn't have to spend hours (badly) photoshopping them ginger!
> 
> Has the word "ginger" succumbed to semantic satiation and stopped sounding like a word to you yet? It doesn't look like a word to me any more.


End file.
